


Until the day break

by canyouseemyspark



Series: Dorne [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, F/M, First Time, Future Fic, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canyouseemyspark/pseuds/canyouseemyspark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Prompt:</b> Myrcella/Trystane. Something about them having a genuine relationship. In my head!canon she isn't a push over, but she's a kind soul. I sort of see her as being more like Joanna Lannister rather than Cersei. I'd love to see any sitaution that reflects that Myrcella and Trystane have a genuine loving relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until the day break

Trystane stands at the edges of the warm waters of the Sunset Sea, holding Tya by one hand and Leo by the other as their children try with clumsy hands to catch the small fish swimming at their feet. They are smiling, the three of them, and as she watches them, Myrcella thinks not for the first time how much things have changed.

He had been the one to come to her, after it was all over and she thought then how strange it was to see the Martell banners flying on the horizon, wondered how her grandfather would have reacted to the sight, if he would have scoffed or laughed ( _she asked herself if he ever laughed, found she could barely remember his face, though her mother’s apparition seemed more human with each passing day, clinging to the Rock, ruling it in death as she had never done in life_ ). She did it to keep her own fear from rising to the surface, to keep the trepidation from heaving within her, taking her breakfast along with it.

They had been children together, years ago. She had not understood then what it meant to be married, though her septa and her mother taught her their lessons well. It had seemed like a game, Trystane an extension of her brothers far away, a boy she could play with, smile with, not a man who would one day wed and bed her. He was her friend, not her lover, and on that final day when she stood at the docks with his bastard cousin, she thought she would miss her friend, even as her heart twisted at the memory of her  _true_ family far away in the capital, the family to which she was returning.

In the end, she was in King’s Landing for less time than she had been with him in Dorne.

The betrothal remained in place, through war and death and the rise and fall of kings and queens, the Sand Snakes circling ever closer, Prince Doran ever cautious, reining them in, waiting to see what her worth would be when the dice had fallen. In the end, through death and destruction, she came with the claim to Casterly Rock, proven useful after all and her betrothed sent to collect on her grandfather’s debt with Myrcella’s maidenhead.

Blood for blood.

The man who stood before her was nothing like the boy she had bid farewell to years ago. That boy had been easy to smile, quick-witted and clever, forever teasing, forever laughing. On those nights when Myrcella lay in bed, sleeping in the rooms kept by her grandfather and his father before him, thinking of how many days remained until his arrival ( _one hundred forty-eight it started, dwindling, dwindling, until it was thirty and twelve and finally one_ ), she would think of how strange the Westerlanders would find this Dornish prince, how distrustful they would be of his mirth, his levity. She hardly recognized him then, as he bowed politely and murmured the words that were expected of him. And perhaps, she thought, he did not recognize her either.

It was when they were finally alone together that she saw who he had been.

They lay beside together, in the muted embarrassment that comes after lovers with gentle kisses and soft groans finally break away, covered in quilts and sheets though the air was thick and musky around them. And it had been some madness, or kindness, or something within her that was driven by tenderness or fear for her future, sleeping and ruling beside a cold man, but she reached for his empty hand, resting on his chest.

Trystane turned to her then, smiling his lop-sided smile, and she thought of days spent across a cyvasse board, picking ripe blood oranges off the trees, whispering childish secrets to each other in the quiet of their rooms. “You’ve learned to keep secrets,” her mother had said to her on one of those last days ( _it seemed more like an accusation than praise)_  and Myrcella thought in their time apart Trystane had learned to do the same. Once they had sat in the Water Garden tearing blood oranges with their fingers, whispering to each other those childish dreams of adventure and now they lay side-by-side, man and wife, and whispered secrets of a different sort.

It was easier after that.

He watched her with careful eyes, sitting beside her as she met with bannermen and vassals, weighing petitions and answering requests. He had been raised knowing that a woman could rule as easily as a man and did not bristle at some imagined blow to his male pride. Instead he settled into his role, and if the men and women who lived under Lannister protection did not love him, they did not question him. And it was enough.

“It’s beautiful here,” He said to her after their marriage had settled into a familiar routine, and Myrcella thought of two golden twins and the Dornish prince and princess who came to meet them, thought of the days they spent in the Rock, the marriages that might have been, the babes that were never born, choked by the dust of death.

Their own children came nearly a year later, twins born with golden curls and dark brown eyes, born in that bed of blood and Trystane had held them both, tenderly as though they were made of glass, the fates of two houses secured inside those two fragile bodies, made heir and heiresses with the first breaths.

“I love them both already,” He whispers, smiling, and she heard,  _and you, I love you._

The children start crying then, the waters growing too strong for their untrained feet, and with a laugh Trystane lifts them into his arms, walking back to where Myrcella stands beneath the shade of the cliffs.

_“Let’s go home.”_


End file.
